Salsa and Starlight
by TheLittleFreak
Summary: Why is Ron affecting me like this all of a sudden? Not even Viktor did this to me, and I’m dating him!" Ron and HErmione share a moment. RR, but please don't kill me if they are OOC


"Herm-own-ninny, would you like to dance?"

"Oh, I guess so." I took Viktor's hand and slid out onto the dance floor. I didn't really care for slow dancing, but Viktor was so nice, and I _am _his guest.

But still! Revolving around in the middle of the floor like a ninny never appealed to me the way it does to most women. And the band is rather strange; but I guess that's why they're called the Weird Sisters.

_sigh_

"Vot's rong, Herm-own-ninny?"

"Nothing. I just wish they'd play some salsa, that's all."

Viktor's nose wrinkled in confusion. "Salsa? Isn't that a food?"

"What? You mean you've never heard of _salsa music_? I'll have to play some for you later, it's amazing! The rhythm is just…" I shivered a little just thinking about it. I've always loved salsa, ever since my dad showed me some when I was about five. It's so much better than this tripe: the beat gets into your blood and you just have to dance—really dance, not just revolve around like a moron.

"Just vot?"

"…Never mind." I didn't get the feeling that he'd understand.

We danced a bit in silence, and I started to slip into a bit into a stupor. So I decided to look around at the other dancers, maybe see how Harry was getting along. He was dancing with Parvati, and he looked like he was enjoying this even less than I did.

I saw Ron, dancing with the other Patil girl. And for some reason, I didn't feel so good, like my heart had dropped into my stomach and was starting to sizzle. She was kind of ugly, his partner was.

He looked my way, and suddenly I couldn't bear the thought of Ron looking at me slow-dancing with Viktor Krum. I turned so quickly I almost got whiplash, and I forced my mouth back into a smile. He saw me now; I could feel his eyes burning into my back.

I barely managed to enjoy the rest of the evening.

Didn't have as much luck with the after-party, though. Ron was furious that I had gone with Viktor. I was just as angry—he had NO RIGHT to yell because SOMEONE had NOTICED that I'm a WOMAN! But still, when he stormed away, and I was all alone, I couldn't help but cry.

Why is Ron affecting me like this all of a sudden? Not even Viktor did this to me, and I'm dating him!

The next morning, I just sat down next to him at breakfast, like I always do, but he got up and left even before I could say a word. I didn't cry that time, but I was close.

It was like that all week. He'd walk away the minute he saw me; I couldn't get a word in. He didn't see me every time, however, and I'd get close enough to hear him laugh, or talk about Quidditch. I know it's just a sport, but he'd get so excited, and you could see he loves it: his eyes start to glitter a little, and he starts using his hands more in these really wild, passionate gestures, trying to make his point.

I had never noticed before, but Ron has very nice hands—long fingers. And watching him use them ground something into my head that I hadn't really considered.

Ron was the kind of guy who would understand salsa. He really was.

There! I've just now finished my Arithmancy. It's amazing how fast it goes when you think about something completely different.

I wonder if anyone else is awake—it's almost midnight. I swing my head around, looking, listening for the slightest sign that there's someone up.

No one is. I guess it's safe to go now.

I push open the portrait hole _verrrrrrry_ slowly; the Fat Lady doesn't wake up that way. It takes awhile to walk to where I want to go. After all, it's very dark, and I have to go rather slow to make sure I don't get caught. But at last I make it out onto the grounds.

Where is it, where is it…ah! There! I head over to an ash tree near the Forbidden Forest. I feel along a bit underneath, and I finally bump into it. My record player—I've enchanted it so that it runs on magic instead of electricity, so it'll work here. I prod it with my wand and it starts to play.

Ahhh…That salsa. It's one of the few pleasures I get these days. I stand there for a minute, heart pulsing to the music, my arms arc gently above my head, and I start to dance. I stop thinking about everything—Arithmancy, how tired I am, even that boy who I can't stop thinking about at any other time, Ron Weasley—all that matters is that I'm out here, smiling, dancing with the stars.

I don't know how long I was out there; I guess I just zoned out for a while. But the next thing I know, my music stops, and I'm standing there, staring.

Ron's standing next to my record player, staring at me.

"Ron," I seem to be having trouble catching my breath. "What are you doing out here?"

He doesn't answer for a bit. He just keeps staring—he's _never_ looked at me like that. After a moment (it seems like forever), he glances down at my record player, like he just realized that he was staring. His ears are turning very red.

"That music," he says simply. "It's nice."

"It's called salsa." My brain has shut off again, like when I was dancing, only not so nice. _What is he doing?_

"Yeah."

The silence stretches on for what feels like forever. He seems a little uncomfortable, like he's not exactly sure what to say next. Me—I'm about ready to pop, I'm so nervous. Which is strange, because Ron's never made me nervous before…

He looks at me again. It's still strange, but a little different—like he's decided something he's been thinking about for a long time.

"You're a good dancer."

"Er…" What's going on? Was he _watching _me dance that _whole time_? "Thanks."

"I don't know how to dance." Where did _that_ come from?

"So I've heard."

He puts a hand inside his robes, and just when I think that this situation can't get any weirder, he pulls out his wand.

"Maybe you could show me how." With a sharp jab he starts my record player up again. The soft rhythm of one of my favorite songs starts to pulse.

"Wai—wha—now?"

"Why not? Now's as good a time as any," And with that, he strides the couple of yards between us and grabs my hand. He gently pulls me closer (he smells nice—clean), and turns me around gently into position. I can feel his hand on my waist, and it feels so _right. _ 

We start to sway, gently. And I know I was right before—he may not know how to dance, but Ron Weasley understands salsa. He really does.


End file.
